After the gift opening and the Great Food Indulgence (aka brunch), we headed to the beach. On the way down we wondered how the beach would look after the recent storm. Would there be a lot of driftwood? How had the dunes fared? Erosion in past storms had actually revealed military rocket motors and casings from World War 2, when the beach was used for military target practice. We chatted about this and that, wondering aloud what we would find there today.

We arrived to find only a few cars in the parking lot. Nick and Lydia headed off to explore the fort, and Kurt and I wandered on the path toward the beach. Already we saw mounds of debris and driftwood along the path’s edges. We came upon a white-haired man sitting on a bench overlooking the water.

“What a beautiful day!” I said, as we approached him.

“Yes, it is,” he agreed. We exchanged holiday greetings and marveled over the layered debris from the storm. He mentioned how he remembered finding bullet casings on the beach as a kid, and we exclaimed how we’d just been talking about that.

After a few minutes, I gave in to the lure of the beach, the shifting blues and silhouettes, and wandered ahead to take pictures. Kurt stayed to talk.

A while later, Kurt caught up with me.

“Were you talking all that time with that man?” I asked.

“We talked for a while. He sprinkled his mom’s ashes here a few years ago, so he comes here every Christmas day. He told me, ‘I don’t think she can hear me. Probably not. But still I like to come.'”

“Oh, I’m so glad you stayed and talked with him.”

“Yeah. He told me that he had diabetes and that he’d had a heart attack. He talked about not knowing what each day would bring and needing to enjoy the time you have.” 

Then Kurt said that as he left to join me, the man apologized, saying to him, “Hey, sorry to talk about such downer stuff.”

“It’s not downer stuff,” Kurt responded, “It’s just life, man.”

I think of that man now, sitting on that bench alone. Of how I wandered on without his story, content to investigate a different one. Of how Kurt stayed to talk, to ask questions, to connect.

I took lots of pictures yesterday. Mostly of sun and sand. Of storm-tossed trees and piles of debris. Even one or two of my family. But of all the images I saw yesterday, it’s the one I didn’t take that is strongest in my mind. That man sitting quietly on the bench, looking out at the water, thinking of life, his challenges, and mostly, remembering his mother.

Later on our walk, we came across another bench. Another story of love and loss. Of remembrance. This time I paused for a little longer, holding my own loved ones, near and far, close in my heart.

The holidays are wrapped in both past and present. Here’s hoping yours were filled with handfuls of love and laughter and seasoned with memories that brought more smiles than tears. Wishing you peace, joy and light as we head into the new year.